


We're Not We Anymore

by shapinguptobeprettyood



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, F/M, angry/sad sex, post-IWTB, revival spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 09:34:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4620387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shapinguptobeprettyood/pseuds/shapinguptobeprettyood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mulder makes a choice Scully can't live with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're Not We Anymore

**Author's Note:**

> for a while I wanted to challenge someone to write X Files fanfiction using Californication or The Fall dialogue, so I thought I would try. The particular dialogue I chose is from Californication between Karen and Hank.  
> also, the details of the revival that have come out have really made me mad! this is really the only reason I could possibly think that Mulder and Scully would split over.  
> edit as of 10/25/15 well this fic has been rendered obsolete by the teaser but whatever!!!

"I cannot _fucking_ believe you!"

"Welcome home, honey," Mulder said dryly, ignoring the way the screen door rattled when she slammed the main door. He'd been trying to read but ultimately failed, knowing the storm that had been waiting for him since exactly 1:34 pm that Tuesday afternoon.

"Don't honey me, Mulder, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Her voice dripped acid and threw knives, but he'd been expecting that.

He sighed. "This is why I didn't tell you."

She laughed mirthlessly. "You had to know they would call me right after you called them. Don't act like I'm not justifiably pissed!"

"You're _fully_ justified. But so am I. I never waved parental rights."

_"Because you were off the grid when I gave him up!"_

Ooh. The neighbors might have heard that, and their closest neighbor was half a mile away.

"Both of which were your idea!" he retorted, his ire starting to rise. "I haven't seen him since he was three days old, Scully. I have a right to see my son. He would've just turned ten, but in my mind he's still some fussy little thing wrapped in a blanket."

Scully had started crying while he was talking. "You blame me for that, don't you?" Her nails were biting into her palms, her entire fists shaking.

He stood suddenly, the forgotten book hitting the floor solidly. "Of course I do! I blame everything for it! The X Files, you, me, my father, the entire US government, I blame goddamn _aliens_ , Scully!"

"It's safer if he has no idea who we are and you know that! You have no clue how many times he almost _died_ before he turned one!"

"You didn't let me!" His voice broke through his anger, his arms flung wide. "I'm tired of not knowing anything about the kid who was literally a fucking _miracle_ , Scully."

"You could've asked!" she shrieked, stalking towards him, somehow managing to be menacing with all five feet two inches of her.

He scoffed. "A different way to have the same argument."

"That's not the point, Fox!"

"You're right. The point, _Dana_ , is that I would like to meet my son sometime before I die!" They were screaming in each other's faces now. An unstoppable force against an immovable object, Mulder noted sourly.

"He's OUR son!"

"He hasn't been _our_ son for ten years," he spat quietly, yanking his coat off the rack on his way out the door that slammed with a satisfying boom.

It wasn't so loud that he couldn't hear her start to sob.

xXx

He slept in the guest bedroom that night. He didn't know why they kept it as a bedroom, they never had guests. Except he did; it was William's. It was unspoken between the two of them, but unanimous. This room was supposed to be home to a ten year old boy, but it wasn't. It would never be.

The entire room held the feeling of sadness in the air, in the carpet, in the bed. He was still bitterly angry, though. Angry, sad, a little guilty, maybe.

The door opened slowly, creaking on its hinges and spilling a streak of light into the room. The beam was only momentarily interrupted as his lover crossed the room, silently sinking onto the bed with him.

Finally he broke the quiet. "Scully, I don’t get it. What do you want from me?"  
"Something you can’t give me, something you’ve never been able to give me. Something to look forward to." Her voice sounded resigned, broken.  
"I’m sorry."  
"Don’t be, it’s not your fault." She turned to look at him, the ray of soft light illuminating the tears that ran down her cheeks. "If you were going to have sex with someone, and you knew it was going to be the absolute last time, what do you think it would be like?"  
He swallowed heavily, the weight of her words like cinder bricks. "I think it would be incredibly sad."  
"Yeah, so do I…make me sad, Mulder." She stood and began to pull her _(his, his, it was old ratty Knicks jersey, oh god)_ shirt over her head. He joined in before it hit the floor, immediately running his hands along her skin, kissing along her sternum slowly. His shirt was next, bunched in her fists and then thrown to the ground like it burned her. She directed his head towards her breast and he hollowly ran his tongue over a nipple, earning a shudder. His hands spanned her waist for a moment before dragging her panties down to join their shirts. He took his time to map out her skin; her hips, her stomach, the gunshot scar, the stretch marks she hated for a completely different reason, her ass, her thighs. He paused for a moment with his hands wrapped around the tops of her thighs, and she huffed as she shoved one hand between her legs. She wasn't as wet as she needed to be, for this, he dimly realized. This angry break up fuck. This sad goodbye lovemaking. Parting her curls in one stroke, he gently brushed her clit, her hips jumping towards him. His forehead was just resting on her solar plexus now, tears pricking his eyes.

He wanted to make her forget her own name. Forget his name. Forget twenty years of injustices.

His cheeks were wet with tears as he spun her and pushed her back onto the bed, laying between her legs, the backs of her thighs pressing against his shoulders.

His only high school girlfriend had once told him that women liked it when men went down on them like they were a last meal. He couldn't remember anything about her anymore; what she looked like, what her voice sounded like, what her name was. But her advice had stuck.

Scully was his last meal. His last everything. Above him she was chanting, "Fox, Fox, Fox," as he lapped at her in earnest. The bedroom was the only place he could ever deal with his first name. But she had used it while yelling in his face earlier, to make him angry, as some kind of deeply personal jab. The reminder incensed him, and his teeth scraped across her clit as he licked upwards as hard as he could, and then she was coming, hips jerking into his face, pubic bone connecting hard with his nose. She was crying out his name so loudly he once again fleetingly, snarkily, thought of their neighbors, but that thought was quickly replaced with bitter satisfaction.

While she was coming down from her high he jerkily shoved off the jeans he hadn't been bothered to remove earlier, along with his boxers, and then rejoined her on the bed.

She shook her head as he rubbed the tip of his cock against her entrance. "What?" It came out sharper than he intended.

"Not like this," she murmured, sitting up. She began kissing his neck, his jaw, his collarbone, all while slowly maneuvering to trade him places. When he was finally the one laying back, she straddled his hips with practiced precision. If her grip on his cock was too tight he didn't say so, but he did let out a guttural moan when she slid down onto him, their hips slotting together as she stilled.

She felt faintly smug that she wasn't going to give him head in return; she still remembered the day in 1995 when he admitted, stammering and bright red, that he'd heard a rumor that she was stellar at blow jobs. She'd given him a noncommittal answer that didn't really answer anything, and he'd been teasing her about it since. It was mildly vicious the amount she was pleased he would be without that now. But she was angry, she told herself as she began to move on him, relishing in the feel of his hands around her waist. He went behind her back. He kept this from her. He blamed her.

 _I blame me too_ , she thought as tears fell onto his chest, her hair swinging more and more wildly and she moved faster and faster. He was staring straight into her eyes, a stream of words coming from his mouth, speaking love and praise and prayers. Her first name was dominant in his jumbled speech, one hand coming up to cradle her face while both of hers were making angry welts across his chest that she silently hoped were bleeding.

As she felt the surge low in her belly, she bent over him to kiss him fiercely, knowing it was the last one she was going to give him. Her world imploded behind her eyelids while her mouth was still locked to his, and then suddenly he had both hands on her hips, holding her to him as closely as possible as his hips bucked up once, hard. The thought of bruises skittered through her mind, but she didn't care. She wanted him to mark her, to confirm the end. _These bruises mean we're not we anymore. We've been we for almost twenty years, and now we're not._

She was limp in his arms, sliding slowly to his side. When she chanced a glance at his face he looked stoic but tears were slipping over his cheeks like a kitchen faucet.

If she didn't stop looking at him now she would never be able to say goodbye.

xXx

When she woke the next morning he wasn't there. She could feel that the house was empty.

It didn't feel any different than when he left ten years ago.

xXx

She repeatedly had to explain away her lateness at the hospital and finally settled on "my husband left me last night." It wasn't much of a lie, the only thing that would have made them more married was a government document. Besides, the lack of one made this easier.

Suddenly the hospital was filled with gossip. Dr. Ice Queen was married? Since when? No ring. Makes you wonder why she never said. Is Scully her maiden name? I wouldn't want a wife that frigid either, honestly.

No one offered sympathy, but she didn't want pity, she wanted to be left alone about it. She found herself saying "I'm fine" more times than she ever did while at the FBI, with even less sincerity.

xXx

He had left a note on their bed. It was late when she noticed, and she wanted to sleep. But she figured she owed him that much, out of the love they had, that they ended.

 

_Dana, I love you. I do. You're still what makes me whole, but lately there's been a hole in my heart and soul you can't fill. I don't know if I'll ever actually see him. But I might, and I won't do that to you. I hope you can forgive me for this, because god knows I won't._

_Forever yours, Fox._

**Author's Note:**

> I accidentally copied the entire story into my android clipboard and again accidentally almost posted it onto facebook because I was trying to paste something else in my clipboard.


End file.
